Chapter 3 - THE WOMAN THEY THOUGHT THEY COULD SILENCE
“That's my little boy.”
I barely recognized my own voice.
On Daniel's tablet, Eli stood outside his elementary school wearing the green backpack I'd bought him for his birthday.
He was smiling.
He had no idea someone had photographed him.
My knees weakened.
Vincent caught my elbow before I stumbled.
“Where is he now?”
“With my neighbor, Mrs. Alvarez. She picks him up after school.”
Vincent turned toward Daniel.
“Confirm that he's safe. Contact the school and preserve whatever security footage they have.”
“I'll handle it.”
“Use the police, Daniel. Whoever sent that message has crossed a line.”
Something in his voice surprised me.
For the first time that evening, Vincent Donovan sounded less like a feared businessman and more like a father who understood exactly what I was feeling.
“I should leave,” I whispered.
“You should be able to leave safely,” he answered.
I looked at Grace.
She was standing beside the sofa, pale and frightened.
“If I hadn't needed the dress altered, none of this would have happened,” she said.
Vincent turned toward her.
“No, sweetheart.”
“But—”
“Someone made a cruel decision. You didn't cause it.”
Grace looked unconvinced.
I recognized that expression.
Children often believed they were responsible for the adults who disappointed them.
I crouched beside her.
“You know why I became a seamstress?”
She shook her head.
“Because when I was twelve, my grandmother made me a winter coat. It wasn't expensive. She used leftover fabric from three different projects.”
Grace glanced at my hands.
“Was it pretty?”
“It was terrible.”
To my surprise, she smiled.
“But it fit me perfectly. Grandma said clothes should fit the person, not the other way around.”
Grace considered that.
Then she touched her brace.
“Can you still make me a dress?”
“Absolutely.”
“One that doesn't make me hide?”
“Especially that kind.”
A quiet knock came from the open doorway.
Daniel returned.
“Your son is safe with Mrs. Alvarez. An officer is checking the school footage, and our team has secured transportation if you need it.”
I finally breathed.
“Thank you.”
He continued.
“We also traced the photograph. It came from a subcontractor hired to document tonight's event.”
Vincent frowned.
“A fashion-show photographer?”
“Yes. His assignment sheet included three canceled modeling appointments and one school address.”
My heart stopped.
“Three canceled appointments?”
Daniel nodded.
I reached into my handbag and retrieved my phone.
Three clients had canceled their appointments with me that month.
One was a bridal boutique.
Another was a theater costume department.
The third was a private school preparing for its winter recital.
Each cancellation had nearly identical wording.
Due to scheduling changes, we no longer require your services.
I showed Daniel.
He compared the dates.
“These cancellations were arranged through the same event agency that booked tonight's production staff.”
I stared at him.
“You're saying someone deliberately took away my work?”
“We need to verify who directed it,” Daniel said. “But the connection is significant.”
Vincent looked at me.
“Lauren, how did you get this assignment?”
“Through an agency called Meridian Events.”
He closed his eyes briefly.
“Peter recommended Meridian to Celeste.”
A terrible thought formed.
Had I been hired because I desperately needed money?
Because I had a child depending on me?
Because someone believed I would do whatever I was told?
Vincent reached for the telephone.
“Bring Peter Bell to my office.”
But Daniel shook his head.
“Mr. Bell left the hotel twenty minutes ago.”
“Where did he go?”
“His office at the foundation.”
Vincent glanced at the clock.
It was almost ten.
Why would Peter leave an engagement celebration for an empty office?
Before anyone answered, Grace spoke.
“Uncle Peter told me something yesterday.”
We turned toward her.
“He said if the dress didn't fit, I shouldn't blame Celeste.”
Vincent's expression sharpened.
“What else?”
“He said grown-ups sometimes have to make difficult choices to protect their families.”
I felt a coldness settle in my stomach.
Grace looked at me.
“Then he said Miss Mitchell would understand because she needed the money.”
Vincent's hands curled into fists.
But I was remembering something else.
The pale-blue gown.
The alterations.
The manufacturer's label Vincent had examined.
“Mr. Donovan,” I said, “I need to look at the dress again.”
“Why?”
“Because whoever narrowed it didn't simply take in the seams.”
I explained what I'd noticed.
A small section of the inner lining had been removed and replaced.
The stitching was hidden beneath a decorative ribbon.
I'd assumed it was careless workmanship.
Now I wondered if the ribbon concealed something else.
Vincent immediately ordered the gown brought upstairs.
When it arrived, I spread it across his desk.
With my small embroidery scissors, I carefully lifted three blue stitches.
Beneath the lining was a folded piece of expensive cream-colored paper.
It was an alteration authorization.
My name was printed at the top.
LAUREN MITCHELL — CUSTOM FITTINGS.
Below it was a signature.
My signature.
Except I had never signed it.
Then I read the final instruction.
CUSTOMER REQUEST: GARMENT MUST NOT ACCOMMODATE MEDICAL SUPPORT DEVICE.
And beneath that, in smaller print:
IF SUBJECT REFUSES REMOVAL, DOCUMENT THE REFUSAL. SEAMSTRESS ACCEPTS FULL RESPONSIBILITY FOR FITTING FAILURE.
Someone had planned to blame me for everything.
May you like
But the most disturbing detail was the date.
The authorization had been created three weeks before I was hired.
